Love and a Flame
by JMHaughey
Summary: A birthday fic for BonesSarah!


**A/N - Happy Birthday, Sarah! You are an amazing, incredible friend. Thank you for all hugs, the smiles and most importantly, the sparkles. **

**Disclaimer: Nope**

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><p>Some people spend their entire lives searching for the <em>right <em>person. Right for what; to run beside them in the park, to sit across from them at a diner, to work with, to share a laugh, a cry, a smile, a dance. Some people do not seek out the right person (Not at first anyway). Some prefer to be alone, does that mean that their right person is alone, too?

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><p>Relationships bore out of friendships andor partnerships can be detrimental but they can also be long lasting and enriching. Do all partners' consider themselves friends? Trusting another with one's life, it seems the answer is yes. A partnership is a platonic relationship. Until it isn't.

Both sides have to be on the same page.

Sometimes there is one partner who realizes from a earlier moment - whether it be years ago, weeks ago, yesterday or a even just few hours ago. Someone has to take the first step. If no one speaks up, the circles will intensify, speed up and eventually converge beneath the pressure. During this observation, thoughts begin to fester in the brain; Did you see that smile? Clearly, it was for you. Did you hear the response to the question? Sort of flirty. Dinner? We do have to eat right. The brain signals are getting frayed and crossed.

Then the moment comes. The moment to speak up – with no real plan. (Bracing yourself if there is a negative reaction). No pre-rehearsed delivery. Everything onto the table. Everything to gain and everything to lose. The _worst _two or three minutes of your life. You're speaking, trying to outwardly project all the feelings since that day. The day it all made sense.

Enter the rejection. A rejection that crumbles the partnership you've built. The tears flowing because there no actual way it can work. The old _It's not you, it's me _routine. But you don't give up – it seems like you have to the casual observer. The flame never actually went out. It can't.

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><p>Another long day, you unlock the door. Home. You hear the faint murmurs of the television. On it, a very large cat who does speaks Spanish and gives to others. She leaves sparkly stickers with all those she helps so they can be reminded of the good inside.<p>

And there she is – your partner, your best friend, the mother of your child, the keeper of your heart. Sleeping with the baby on her stomach. It makes you smile. You stop and take a look around. Your house, decorated with pictures, antiques, crazy bobble heads, and maps. You didn't have to get rid of anything (apparently, in some cases compromise is not an option). But your partner would never ask you to compromise yourself nor would you ask her.

You both have faced harsh realities growing up. They stay with you. They make their mark. You learn from them. You face everyday with the knowledge of a previous life. You overcome it, you have to. You do it together (a little more everyday).

The baby is snoring lightly. You don't want to disturb her so you just watch in awe. You created this life. Together. Sure, you think back to that night you gave up your hand. She called your bluff. She did it for you. Your partnership has never been easy. Life isn't easy. You work so hard for what you have. She knows this.

Your partner begins to stir. Her first instinct is reach up and secure the baby. She senses you are here – after this long you just know. She looks over at you. She doesn't have to say it you know she's thinking, _We did this – our life, our way. _

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><p>You recount the first time you said <em>I love you. <em>It was followed quickly with an _'atta girl_. And she replied with _back 'atcha. _You realized that your dreams weren't reality. Maybe you forgot that for second, this life wasn't so easy, so free to discuss your feelings.

The second time you said _I love you._ It was the first time you made love. The day had been hell and she came into your room and you held her. You cradled her in your arms, stroked her hair and without reservation, you said it. There is was floating about the room. No more hiding. Life was too short. She answered.

Since then not a day goes by in which an _I love you _isn't uttered. Sometimes the phrase is returned, sometimes it's a _ditto_, sometimes it's an _I know. _

You know there is always one person you love the most.

And the person isn't going anywhere.


End file.
